Homemaking, and All That Entails
by Dr. Fluffmuffin
Summary: North believes that as long as a plan works, it counts as a good plan, no matter how brash or unconventional it may be. When it comes to getting Jack Frost to live at the Pole, he learns that simply tossing his friend into a sack and bringing him there won't do the trick.
1. North Gets an Idea

**I own nothing but the story.**

* * *

He sends Bunny after him, because if the Pooka can find and kidnap Jack in the middle of nowhere, then he can surely follow the young spirit around for a while.

It's not the most honest way to find out where Jack lives, but North's plans have always been a little on the unsavory side. Besides, every time North asks, Jack answers him with a smile and a deflection disguised as an answer. That, combined with the way Jack always sits at the window every time the Guardians meet, tugs at his protective nature in a way that gets him suspicious.

There's nothing wrong with sitting by a window, of course. North prefers the location himself, but with Jack Frost, it's another story.

The Pole is a magnificent place, full of many rooms and wonders. When the Guardians meet, they sit together in the globe room, beneath colorful tapestries, next to a roaring fire, and waited on by elves bearing an endless supply of eggnog and cookies. Since Pitch, they do this once a month, that way they can discuss and eliminate potential threats to the children before they get out of hand.

That's the goal, at least. Lately, it's been more of a social gathering, where they discuss everything from teeth to Bunny's latest hobbies. While it isn't the most productive use of their time, it is pleasant. The meetings have brought the Guardians closer than they've been in a long time, and North is pleased to say that they are the highlight of every month, December excluded. There is something wonderful, a feeling he forgot, about sitting with his nearest and dearest friends and doing little more than talking, eating, and just having a good time.

But Jack sits by the window.

It isn't far from where they gather, but it puts distance between him and the rest of the group that bothers North enough to question it.

Why does the boy sit so far? He has a chair that he never uses, and the Guardians are more than welcoming.

At first, North thinks it is the fire that bothers him, and wonders if the heat has an effect on the boy. Over time, he rules the theory out; temperature has less of an effect on Jack, and more of his influence over the cold. He also finds that even with the roar of his mighty fireplace, Jack occupies a permanent sphere of chill, one that he brings wherever he walks, much to Bunny's chagrin.

This brings North to his second theory; that Jack sits apart out of courtesy of the rest of them. He knows Jack well enough to see that underneath a hardened layer of snark and attitude, the boy is terribly polite when he wants to be, and he's sure now that Jack likes the Guardians well enough to grant them access to this side of him.

But Jack isn't above sending flurries of snow or a gust of a wind armed with teeth towards Bunny's unsuspecting feet whenever the Pooka sets him off. It doesn't disprove the possibility that Jack stays away out of courtesy, but North dismisses the theory anyway.

He and his belly know that it isn't the right answer.

That leaves him with two things: a stomach ache and a friendship in the shape of a question mark.

He can't have that, so he tries asking Jack closer one night. He's met with another smile and a deflection, punctuated by a look in his eyes that doesn't match the rest of his face.

"That's alright," Jack says, "I have to leave soon; Chicago is in for a real snow, tonight!"

It's not the first time North has asked a question like that, and not the first time Jack responds in such a way. He always leaves right then, before the meeting ends, and the action is enough to stop North from asking again. Losing company was worse, he thought.

Jack leaves each meeting through the same window he sits by, through a slat up at the top that North has begun keeping unlocked, in hopes that Jack will come flying back in whenever he pleases.

He never does, and it, like everything else, bothers North.

One day, at the end of a meeting that runs several hours late, North manages to stop the young spirit before he takes off out a window now covered with intricate frost designs, both inside and out.

"Where are you off to?" North asks, all smiles.

"Gotta fly home," says Jack, standing and stretching, "I've got a big day tomorrow."

It's the time of year where, although light still finds its way towards North's domain, the sun never rises, and he knows that night has settled where Jack spent most of his time that day.

"Why not rest here?" he says, "It'll save you time, yes?"

The look appears in Jack's eyes again, and North knows what he is going to say before the words leave his mouth, "That's alright. I have a place."

The smile on his face is getting harder to keep, "Near here?"

Jack nods, slowly, "It's not far. A little ways south."

Every direction away from the Pole is south. North knows that, and Jack knows it, too. But Jack neither explains nor says any more as he bids North a quick but enthusiastic goodbye and hikes out the window before he can press him further.

He's a fast flyer, and is soon a spot on the horizon, hardly distinguishable from passing albatross. North puts a hand to his chin as he stares after him, thoughtful. From behind, he can hear Bunny grumbling about the temperature, and he turns before the rabbit can take his leave.

"Bunny," he says, tone turned serious, "Does Jack have a place?"

The Pooka gives him a distracted stare before saying with a shrug, "He's a spirit of nature. The world is his place."

He isn't wrong, but North is persistent, "But does he have a _place_?"

Bunny looks at him, silence stretching until one of his ears cocks sideways. "I don't know."

That is the point where North decides he's had enough, and he sends Bunny out after the boy, just to make sure. There is something about this that connects it all; he's positive.

* * *

Many hours later, Bunny returns with snow in his fur and displeasure in his tone.

"He flew... _forever_." The Pooka moans and groans as he pulls mottled paws through fur that's beginning to ice together.

North throws a hand out in a vague gesture towards the fireplace, but Bunny is already on his way there.

"I thought I was going to die! He went from Russia to Canada to Pennsylvania and back! Anywhere my bollocks could fall off, he went! I'll never understand why anyone chooses to live up north."

"Yes, yes," says North, holding two cups of eggnog close to his chest in hopes that Bunny will faster get to the point, "but did you find where he lives? Does he have a home?"

Bunny still looks irritated, but he pauses, "Sort of."

"Hm?"

"He's got a home, alright," Bunny takes a cup of eggnog that North offers to him, "but it's a hole."

"Hush!" North chides, "I am sure your place is no better!"

"Ya don't understand," Bunny shoots him a look before downing the drink, "It's actually a hole. He's got a large tree down in the timberlands with a cavity hollowed out in the center. I thought he was just stopping for the night, but he's got all sorts of little trinkets in there."

The hand holding North's favorite mug clenches tight, "A tree?"

"He's been there a while, I think," Bunny continues the conversation towards the fire, "It's not much, but I'd definitely call it homely."

It's not a compliment, and it sets something off within North, something wild and fierce.

"This…" he says once he regathered his bearings, "this will not do."

The reply he gets is not what he expected, "I know."

North looks up, eyebrows flying up his forehead, "Eh?"

Bunny smirks at him, his mood significantly improved now that he was out of the cold, "Don't sound so surprised, mate. That boy gets on my last nerve, but I care about him."

North is more surprised that Bunny is agreeing with him, but he chooses to keep the thought to himself. Instead he grips the mug tighter in his hands, nodding to himself as he begins to pace, "Tomorrow, I will ask Jack to live here at the Pole. I will not have our newest Guardian living alone in a hole!"

It's a grand idea (North thinks so, at least), but Bunny lets out a snort and a scoff, saying, "Ya can't even get him to sit with us during our meetings. There's no way he'd let ya ask him to move in."

With that statement, Jack's behavior starts making sense. "Does he not feel welcome with us?" the thought unsettles him. He wants Jack to feel the love and general appreciation that the Guardians have for him, but again, Bunny scoffs at his statement.

"I'm sure he does," says Bunny, leaning against the side of an armchair so that he can hold his feet out to the orange flames, "but I also think that he distances himself."

"Why's that?"

"He's Jack Frost," Bunny shrugs, "I can't tell ya why, but I know he won't be stoked about ya askin' him to move in."

North frowns down at Bunny, not because he's mad, but because his friend is right. Terribly right. Mood dampeningly right. He can already imagine how the situation would go if North asked. Jack would smile, like he always does, then make up some excuse before riding out on the world's fastest winds.

He doesn't let that deter him, however, "Jack is too young to be out on his own."

Bunny's voice is soft, "He's not that young."

"He's not old."

"Right."

North looks away, turning a circle and humming to himself as gears turn inside his head. He wants Jack to move into the Pole, or at least find somewhere adequate to live, but more importantly, he wants Jack to feel welcome; he wants Jack to feel like a part of the group. But how was he going to go about that?

Ideas were beginning to form inside his head, like crystals of ice beneath the limbs of a red oak gone dormant for winter. Slowly, the preliminary pieces of a plan start to come together, and a smile blossoms over North's cheeks.

"Bunny," he announces rather than states, "I have an idea."

Poor Jack wasn't going to know what hit him.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading! I wish you all the best!**


	2. It Pleases North When Things Work Out

**I own nothing but the story.**

* * *

North doesn't luck out for another month, when Jack flies in early to horse around the workshop. Normally, he lets Jack go about his business without so much as sending a yeti to keep him out of trouble (though it would hardly make a difference; Jack is as devious as the day is long, and his workshop is chaotic enough on its own), but today, he follows Jack's path—discreetly, of course.

As discreetly as a boisterous, big-bellied man in a red suit can be.

He gets caught when Jack wanders down a deserted hall and turns a corner. When North follows, the conjoining corridor is empty, and Jack calls to him from above.

"Whatcha' following me for, North?"

The bones in his neck make unsettlingly ancient sounds as North snaps his head back, eyes meeting Jack's grin as he crouches upon the wooden rafters. The expression is as satisfied as it is accusing, and North tries laughing off the situation.

"Following? I'm not following—"

"I walked around the globe four times, and you were there every step of the way."

Well, that puts a wrench in North's plans. Fortunately, like any creator, North is adaptable. He plasters his face with a grin that matches Jack's and shakes a finger as he explains, "Well, someone has to keep an eye on you after what happened last time, no?"

He's referring to an incident that occurred nearly five months earlier, one that involved Jack, a large fire, and an unfortunate yeti who lost his balance. No one was hurt, thankfully, but his blowing machine had to be laid permanently to rest, right next to Phil's pride. The excuse works as an explanation as Jack's grin stutters into something more sheepish. He's quick to mask it as he drops to the floor, but North isn't above a little light teasing.

"Just be thankful 'tis me following you, and not anyone else," he chuckles.

He'd specifically sat Phil down and told him that murder was not something he would allow at the Pole, but Jack didn't know anything more than the glowering looks sent his way whenever he happened past.

Come to think of it, if North's plan is going to work, he would need to put a stop to any behaviors, direct or indirect, that will make Jack uncomfortable.

"Yeah, uh," Jack's giving him a shamefaced smile that's positively endearing, "I thought that was water under the bridge."

 _More like fire..._ he wants to say, but North doesn't. "Where are you off to today, Jack?"

The change in subject surprises the boy, but he's quick to reply, "The kitchens."

Curiosity blooms inside North's mind, "Oh?"

Jack nods, "I like watching the elves try to figure out recipes. It's like watching a bunch of turtles on their backs."

A beat passes, and North laughs. He can't help it; it's the oddest reason he's heard in a while.

"Well," he says, "You do that. Just stay away from trouble!"

Jack grins, "How can I?"

He's right, and they both know it. Still, North lets the boy walk away, and to keep Jack off his toes, North goes the other way. He doesn't leave, though. He waits a while, circles the work area, talks to a few yetis, then follows again. He has a plan; he's going to stick to it. He just hopes that Jack was telling the truth about his desired destination.

Of all places he expected Jack to go, the kitchens never crossed his mind. The kitchens are located at the bottom of the Pole, near the furnaces. It's a hot place, full of humidity and fumes that either smell of baked goods or burnt goods, depending on who was cooking that day.

He wouldn't take Jack for someone to hang around such a warm place, even if the sweets were there (not that the elves would let him take any. They're sticklers about their sugar).

But he follows, taking care to be extra sneaky this time. It's fortunate, he thinks with a smile, that he has what he believes are catlike reflexes.

When he first arrives, he's startled to find that Jack isn't there. He looks left, then right, but is met only with the spooked faces of several elves caught in various stages of tomfoolery. He doesn't tell them off—he'd learned centuries ago that it was a fool's task—but he wonders; where is Jack?

Until he spots the back of a blue hoodie peeking out from behind several racks of kitchenware, he thinks that Jack sent him in the wrong direction. But there he is. He isn't where he'd said he'd be. The elves crowd the ovens in the front. Jack is hidden in a far corner, almost out of sight and seemingly alone.

His curiosity dances a line near suspicion, and he, hoping the noises of the various ovens and stovetops will mask his footsteps, walks a path to the back, looking around. He stops, boot scuffing as he does so.

Jack is baking.

Several bowls and ingredients ranging from eggs to cinnamon sit in piles around him, hardly organized, but Jack has worked out a system. He stands with a bowl of batter looped between his arm and chest, a large wooden spoon in hand as he beats something white and striped on the inside.

Jack has a sheen of sweat on his brow and a look of concentration that rivals that of his workers. He's so focused, in fact, that he doesn't notice North's presence.

It's hard to describe the excitement North feels upon the sight, but before he can think, he marches right up to the young spirit and greets him with a jovial, "Jack!"

The greeting turns into more of a scare when Jack jumps and the bowl slips from his grip. What follows comes straight from a horror movie (a Christmas themed horror film, naturally). The bowl full of delicious goodness that North no doubt would've enjoyed falls straight to the floor, time itself slowing so that he can watch it in detail. The mixture splatters puddles over the oven and elves and Jack alike, and there's a moment of silence afterwards, like that of a car crash or a similar tragedy.

Jack looks to the floor, then towards North, eyeing him with an expression that more suits someone who's been caught stealing, rather than baking. It's odd.

"Sorry," North says first, raising his hands to show he means no harm—because Santa Claus never means harm...towards friends. He's still looking at the mess, and that, it seems, is what keeps Jack apprehensive. North is quick to try and dispel it, though. A mess in the kitchens, while a personal tragedy, is like finding snow in Alaska.

"I was just—" Jack's face is nearly as rosy as his own, and his eyes dart as he struggles to speak, "I was...pranking."

Though still crestfallen at the loss of what he decides to call 'exhibit A', North looks up, curious as to why Jack feels the need to come up with an excuse to a seemingly innocuous—and, frankly, charming—task, "Pranking?"

"Bunny," he says, "I was pranking Bunny," a beat, then, "I thought it'd be funny to put syrup of ipecac into his bread."

That's a silly excuse if North ever heard one, and he can hide the chuckle, if not the smile, in his voice as he says next, "You're baking."

"Pranking."

"Baking!" this excites North to a degree he cannot believe. It fits into his plan like the last piece of a puzzle, with every part snapping perfectly into place, "You can bake!"

"Yeah, so?" Jack's got his arms folded now, his stance widened into a more defensive posture, "Never underestimate the lengths I will go to give the kangaroo indigestion."

Cautiously, North approaches, glancing over the array of ingredients Jack had been working with and carefully avoiding making a big deal out of the mess, "Bah! We do not have syrup of ipecac here!"

There's a moment of silence as Jack blinks, then he says, quieter, "That's...because...I've used it all."

"You can bake!" North says again, "I didn't know you could!"

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

Jack's quiet, and North is bewildered. Not even after the incident with the blowing machine did Jack look...like he does. North would almost call it embarrassed.

He never gets an answer, and he moves on instead, asking, with as much gentleness as his voice could muster, "What all can you do?"

* * *

Later, the Guardians are marveling over various snacks and goodies at the meeting. Jack watches from afar, knees drawn up to his chest and elbows propped on top. Though he's pleased that his work is appreciated, he's thankful that North hasn't told them exactly where those snacks came from.

He's not embarrassed—that's what he tells himself, anyways—but he's self-conscious. He's not sure what to feel about it, actually.

North asked him earlier if, after trying some of the cinnamon mix he'd set aside, he could make some of the snacks that evening instead of the elves. Jack agreed, but only because he didn't want North to think he was nervous.

Because he wasn't. Isn't.

The result is a plate of snickerdoodles (his favorite, by name alone), and a pie that he'd already placed in an oven when North found him.

And he wasn't nervous. Isn't nervous.

He's also sure that the feeling that's washed over him is not relief that the Guardians like his skills, because he has no reason to feel that way. No, none at all.

"Make sure not to eat too much," Tooth is in the middle of polishing off her third slice of chocolate brownie peanut butter pie, but she isn't yet above lecturing about the importance of gum health.

"Jack," calls North, his stare more pointed than usual, "Why aren't you eating?"

It would seem odd that Jack isn't eating his own cooking, especially since he hadn't tampered with it in any ill-meaning way, but in all honesty, he enjoys the process of baking more than he enjoys actual consumption. "I'm good," Jack holds up a hand to drive his point home, "I don't need to eat."

Something passes through North's eyes that Jack doesn't think he was meant to see, and it prompts him to reach out and take one of his own snickerdoodles. As he takes a bite to show North he's a good sport, he thinks that maybe distaste for flying on a full stomach would have been a better excuse. He makes a note to save the idea for later.

North had been incredibly excited when he'd found—no, thinks Jack—caught him baking cinnamon bread in the kitchens (Jack chides himself for not lying when North asked where he was going. He's found that in the months since he became a Guardian, it was getting increasingly harder to lie to this pleasurable group of spirits). He'd asked all sorts of questions: where did you learn to bake? What are you making? Can you make more?

Jack didn't think too much at first. He figured that North was curious and nothing more.

Now, as he observes North switching between interacting with the group and giving him knowing smiles over their shoulders, he thinks that North has something else in mind. Call it a hunch, but the twinkle that normally shines from North's eyes is looking a little more mischievous than usual, like North knows something he doesn't, and Jack isn't sure what to make of it.

Then the meeting ends, and North approaches him before he can leave.

"Your snacks were a hit!" he starts, giving a devilish grin that matches his eyes. "I haven't a single leftover."

"Of course," Jack replies easily enough, "If I set out to do something, I don't drag my heels."

"I'm aware," North chuckles, folding his arms over his chest. The action is casual enough for Jack to lower his hackles, but then North clears his throat, and his suspicions rise again. "Jack," he states.

The mischievous glint in his eye is toeing a border near concerned, and Jack doesn't care for that combination at all.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you to bake for us again?"

Jack thinks, still watching North with the same intensity the man was giving him, "I can."

North beams, but he isn't finished, "You know, I'm fond of baking, myself."

Jack nods. That cuts out.

"So," says North, and the mischievous glint rears its head, "I was thinking, if you'd like to, that maybe you could come in next week and bake with me. I would love to see all you can do."

That explains it, then. North likely had this planned from the moment he caught Jack messing around with foods and tools that he really should have left alone. It's the story of his life, he guesses.

Jack smirks, but the excuse he's about to give dies in his throat.

He's not sure if North is doing something with his face to make him harder to refuse, but for some reason, the idea of saying no to an innocent—and, a part of him thinks distantly—flattering request is something he can't bring himself to do. Instead, he heaves a slow, heavy sigh, and smiles.

"Sure, why not?"

The expression North gives him is almost worth the mortification of getting caught and the subsequent series of events. The man genuinely wants to spend time with him.

It's a nice thing to realize, enough to make him forget the fact that he would be baking with someone who is likely the leading expert in all things sweet.

 _What the heck,_ he thinks as he bids goodbye and flies away, _it'll be an afternoon._

Just that, he decides as he lets the winds carry him across an endless horizon.

He doesn't notice North watching him as he goes, nor the thumbs up he gives to the Pooka behind him.

* * *

 ***Syrup of ipecac is a type of medicine meant to cause vomiting in case one accidentally ingests a poison. It's only meant to be taken with water.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You guys really made my day!**

 **And thank you all for reading this far! I hope you have a fantastic week!**


	3. The Plan, Part One

**I own nothing but the story.**

* * *

North's plan is simple: make the Pole a home. It's not necessarily easy, however.

The Pole is already a home; for him, at least. For him, a home is a place he can lean back and put his feet up, uncaring of where or why. Home is a place where he can sip hot chocolate with just a dash of cream (covered in chocolate chips, dotted with marshmallows, and topped with a sprinkle of brown sugar, for good measure) while gazing out of windows that allow the entire landscape to stretch throughout its frame. Home is a place he can eat cookies with the top button of his trousers open and feel absolutely no shame. For him, the Pole is every definition of a home. It's full of life, wonder, and creatures he loves as much as he does children.

For Jack, the definition is different. Certainly, it contains the core elements of a home, they being safety, love, and comfort. North intends to provide these elements, applying them tenfold, but he's after the specifics of Jack's definition. How would the boy describe a home? Would it be a place where he could get away with all sorts of pranks and horseplay? Or is it a place where he can go to escape from the rest of the world? A place where nothing can touch him?

It's these questions that North wishes to find answers to, and it's this purpose that shapes the first part of his plan: getting to know Jack. He certainly knows Jack now, but he wants to learn the boy inside and out, that way he can provide him a place in the Pole that fits him perfectly and can express the fondness he has for him in ways that Jack will appreciate.

He knows (in his belly) that he's in for a long trip down a road he can't clearly see, but he's optimistic. That in itself is wonderful thing.

He figures the best way to start out the plan is by sharing common interests, which is why discovering that Jack knows his way around a recipe was a stroke of good luck. Not only would they have something to talk about, but he can start right away in making the Pole a place Jack might like to return to outside of mandatory meetings with the rest of the Guardians.

When Jack does arrive that day, he knocks against frosted panes of the windows in his office, and North has to guide him back to the window he left unlocked.

He's sure to tell the boy of it the moment he steps in, a flurry of snowflakes following his descent to the carpet, "I'll always leave this window open for you," he says, trying not to come off too pertinent, "So, whenever you wish, just fly on in."

Jack looks from North to the window, then he says, somewhat matter-of-factly, "Won't that make it awfully cold in here?"

It's a fair question, but North grins, "My fireplaces provide more than enough heat! A small chill is hardly a match against them!"

Jack turns towards the room's main fireplace, an inglenook that spans a wide range along the wall, the blaze within too hot to stand close to. He releases a small hum, one that, although doesn't explicitly say anything, North is pretty sure means, "Not if I can help it."

He gestures Jack along towards the kitchens, and though he tries to walk next to Jack, North finds himself leading the way, making conversation to the open air instead of his present company.

"What got you into baking, Jack?"

The response is simple, "Curiosity."

"That alone?" says North, "No reason in particular? No fond-" he stops himself before he says 'memories', "Didn't try anything and never go back? No sweet tooth in need of fix?"

He turns around to look at Jack, who just gives him a smile, "Sometimes, when I'd be out frosting homes and bakeries and such, I'd see people inside making wonderful things. I can't help but watch."

"Really?"

"It's how I learned." Jack bookends the statement with a shrug, like it's no big deal, even though it is, and North makes a special note of it.

He doesn't say much more the rest of the path to the kitchens, but North is alright with that, especially now that he is into his domain.

Well, one of his domains. If he were being honest, it's been years since North cooked for himself. Children, while the actual lights of his universe, are demanding creatures, and he's the world's most doting grandfather. What they want, they get, spruced up with his trademark charm and wrapped with a beautiful Christmas bow. It takes a lot of his time, but he can't help it.

He wonders how Jack would respond to such treatment.

He'd have to be subtle.

Which he is. He's very subtle.

"Well, now!" North clears a counter space with one massive sweep of his hand, sending an assortment of pots and dirtied utensils to the floor. As elves scatter, he turns with his hands on his hips and a cheeky grin on his face, "What would you like to make first?"

Though it's small, hardly noticeable, Jack balks. A beat passes, and to ease the miniscule rise of tension North spots in Jack's shoulders, he adds, "I was going to start with a tart recipe, myself."

Jack relaxes, "Oh, I see. I think...I guess I'll make some Christmas Crack."

The name surprises a guffaw out of him. He's never heard anyone refer to the saltine dish as _that,_ but it's delightful.

What follows is an...interesting experience, and North is overjoyed to say that it's one of the best mornings he's had in a while.

It starts with the ingredients, which Jack gathers without even asking where he keeps them. Or, he doesn't ask until he spots North watching him work. The tips of his ears turn pink, and he says, with a sack of cocoa powder in his arms, "Where do you keep the food?"

North just laughs and humors him with a gesture towards the cupboards and cabinets Jack has already been poring through. He wonders then how long Jack has been sneaking in here since he became a Guardian.

Another thing North learns quickly is that Jack doesn't know a process or utensil by its proper name. He refers to the jelly roll pan as "baking tray jr.", and kosher salt is merely, "chunky stuff."

He's more than okay with it, though. It's another oddity to add to the list of traits that make up Jack. He figures that most recipes he knows were likely learned by sight, not by book. It would explain his disinterest in measuring cups.

Jack is oddly quiet for the first few minutes, and North finds himself getting more conversation out of the pastry shell he's attempting to shape. Over time, he lets the silence fall as Jack gets to work lining his pan with saltine crackers.

North eventually asks, "Why so quiet, Jack?"

A beat passes, another, then, "I bet you've tried every dessert recipe in existence."

North looks over, but Jack keeps his back turned, working meticulously over his dish. "I wish I could be so lucky," he replies, growing curious, "As old as I am, there's a lot I haven't tried."

Jack snorts, "Even with all the houses you visit?"

"Even with," North chuckles to himself, "and I'm not always left desserts. I've been given everything from hot tamales to bottles of beer," he steals a glance at Jack again and says, "I love it all, no matter how odd or undercooked."

The statement is true. Children leave him those foods out of love (and, sometimes, bribery), and on a night as stressfully wonderful as Christmas, they're welcome tokens of appreciation, a little reminder of the many reasons why he does what he does. All this said, only half the dishes he receives are usually any good, but that doesn't change a thing.

He feels Jack's gaze at his side, then the boy asks, "Do you ever get indigestion?"

North can recall several nights too many where he had to lean over the side of the sleigh and let loose, but those occurrences were nearly always a direct result of his own reckless riding rather than the food he eats.

So, with a smile, he gives his belly a good pat and says, "'Course not! I have the strongest stomach in the world!"

It's a lesser known power of his, and it gets a chuckle out of his companion.

North isn't sure what part of the conversation did it, but afterwards, Jack is visibly more at ease as they continue to work over their respective dishes. He's so relaxed, even, that he hovers over North's elbow while he's waiting for the caramel sauce to boil.

North is making a chocolate pecan tart, because it is his firm belief (and insatiable desire) that chocolate must be a part of every dessert he makes, and that any dish can be improved with the addition of it, flavor be damned.

"You fond of tarts?" North asks, hoping for conversation that lasts longer than three minutes.

Jack shrugs, "I like all sorts of things."

A pause, then, "Such as?"

"Depends on what I'm eating."

North halts his task of chopping pecans to give Jack a look, uncertain if the boy is being this agonizingly vague on purpose. Jack just smiles at him, the innocence of the expression either well-practiced or completely genuine. North suspects the former but cannot confirm it.

With a sigh, he decides to move on, and he swears he hears Jack stifle a snort on his way back to his work.

Though they're supplied with all sorts of chocolates, they end up running out of it twice, because both dishes call for an exorbitant amount, and North is unable to suppress the urge to eat a few (or plenty of) pieces as he works. Jack seems the same way.

'Seems' is the key word, because while North knows what he takes, Jack is much sneakier. North turns away for no more than a second, and when he looks back, the bowl of chopped dark chocolate is smaller. He can't quite catch Jack in the act, nor can he get Jack to confirm the theft with words, but the smirk Jack can't hide is proof enough.

Jack's dish ends up finishing early, being the less complicated of the two, and North's dish turns out...sub-par.

He stares at the result of his labor with an expression neither surprised nor pleased. He'll admit that it's been long since he last cooked, but he figured he'd at least kept up with his skills.

The shells seem to be the biggest point of failure, and the insides of the tart seep all over his pan. Too long, indeed.

Jack leans over, a piece of his cooled Christmas Crack in hand, "Looks good."

"It's been long since I last cooked," North says, neglecting to add that this 'last time' occurred in a century that began with 'nineteen' and ended in a decade he was uncomfortable admitting to even himself.

Jack shrugs, grinning, "If it tastes good, that's all that matters, right?"

He's being wonderfully genuine. Truly it is a good morning.

"I suppose I'll cool it, then," North steals a look at Jack's dish and feels better about his. Though Christmas Crack is meant to look like a mess, it makes his tarts look like part of a set.

That, and they indeed look appetizing.

Before he can get to a decent window or shelf, Jack stops him with a grin and a hand against his forearm.

"I can cool it faster," is the only warning Jack gives before he places bare hands against the pan's rim. The parent in North wants to scream and jerk, but lines of frost border the edges of the pan as the tarts cool so fast, they crack.

Jack looks back to North, excited and pleased to have done what he does best, and North, once his heart starts beating again, gives him a chuckle in return, "You're better than my best chiller, Jack."

"I should hope so!" is the response, an enthusiastic one.

 _He's enjoying himself,_ North confirms. His plan is working.

Halfway, at least.

Jack has been here for the better half of the day, and he hasn't revealed a thing about himself that North hasn't had to pick up in little pieces and clues. He likes baking (North knows this for certain); he finds it fun. As far as his skills go, what his favorite foods are, whether he can make anything other than mouth-watering desserts, is all hidden behind a nebulous wall that North can't quite get a leg over.

Fortunately, there's time. North is a patient immortal, after all.

While on this train of thought, he makes one final query, one last attempt, "Is there anything else you'd like to bake?"

Jack's answer is one he figured he'd get. It comes with a pause, a faraway look, and a tone that would otherwise pass as nonchalant, were it not for the change in mood, "There's some stuff I gotta do today."

North understands, partly. Jack doesn't want to spend too much time here, but North doesn't understand why. And so far, the day has revealed nothing to him.

So, he sighs, without meaning to.

Jack looks up at his side, and after a moment, he says, "I wouldn't mind eating this before I go, though. Your tarts do look good."

It's a compromise, and, though small, North is going to take it. He points out a hallway to head down while he grabs one of his favorite Christmas plates.

Christmas isn't for another month, but one of the privileges of being Santa Claus is that he can be as festive as he wants, whenever he wants.

There's a room at the end of the hall that North sometimes spends his mornings in, should he happen to be down here. It's a cozy area with a fireplace on one side and a window on the other. It offers as good a view as the rest of the Pole, and there's enough armchairs and cushions inside for even the most stressed of cranks to relax a while.

When he walks in, the plate of goods in one hand and a crowd of elves bearing drinks at his heels, he finds Jack sitting in the largest armchair, swinging his legs and eyeing the shelves of books he has on the opposite wall.

"Is this a library?" Jack asks as North sits in a smaller, but comfortable, armchair.

"Of sorts," North says, guiding the elves as they struggle to lift a plate of hot chocolate and assorted snacks on a small coffee table, "I have many rooms here; some have books, some don't," he takes a mug from the tray and pours cocoa into it, "I reckon this room is full of cookbooks, mostly."

It would explain the dust. Yetis are better at toymaking than cooking, and he's not even sure if the elves know how to read.

"Do you read?" Jack asks.

"When I can."

Jack takes the cocoa, and North watches as he grabs a shake of cinnamon and jiggles it for a solid seven seconds over his cup, making for a mix that's far more than a mere dash. He wonders, briefly, if Jack likes spicy foods.

They agree to try a piece of their creations together, because Jack insists that his dish tastes best when shared with friends, and North knows that Jack's nerves are on overdrive. He notices but refuses to acknowledge the way Jack watches from over his mug as North takes a bite out of the toffee treat.

There's no way that North can be disappointed with what he tastes, but he does notice that the caramel ended up soaking through the crackers, causing them to harden almost past the point of edible.

Frankly, they're perfect.

Besides, though Tooth would say otherwise, years of eating various sweets and candies have made his teeth strong.

North tries complimenting him again, but the embarrassment and deflections tell him that Jack is much more comfortable if North acts as though all is normal.

He likes to think that giving a man his due is normal, but it must not be for Jack.

 _How sad,_ he thinks, but Jack strikes up a conversation, and the day goes from good to great.

He tells him of a pie he found sitting out on a sill over in Europe, part of a line of five. The year was 1712, not long since he'd become Jack Frost. The pie was the last in line, tucked far in a corner. Jack had long since learned that spirits don't need to eat, but something about the way it looked; prettified with braided strips and adorning a decorative overhang caught his eye.

He tells North that it was thrown out, but he likely just took it (North doubts the boy has any remorse over it, and the thought makes him smile).

In reality, the pie was nothing special. The crust was a tad too salty, and it was cold by the time Jack ate it (flying it across Italy had been a mistake, Jack says), but he got curious. Afterwards, he spent months that turned to years flying into bakeries and houses, anywhere he could watch these creations take form.

Cooking really became a skill born from curiosity and nothing more, something that, though North knows already, surprises him. Personally, he'd gotten into cooking because, before elves, he'd only himself to supply the delicious treats that his sweet teeth (because his sweet tooth is more of a sweet jaw) craved.

It's odd to think that Jack, as young as he is, doesn't share the same craving. Though Jack doesn't complain that he can make delicious foods for himself, especially now that he has access to fine materials and utensils. The smile he gives North when he explains this is more bashful than he might intend, but it makes North glow.

In the end, it's a pleasant day, and North is better off now than when he started. Jack raves about the tarts, helping himself to seconds and thirds while insisting that North continue cooking. Flattered as he is by the idea, North likely won't be cooking on his own, but he keeps the resolve to himself.

As much as he wants, he doesn't ask Jack back for tomorrow, but he reminds the boy on his way out of the promise he made, unknowingly to him.

"Anytime you wish, just come on in," he says, "This window will always be open for you."

Jack stares at him, something different about his gaze, then he nods, flying off before North can say anything more.

He watches him go.

He's in for a long road indeed, but he's further along than he was earlier that day. The thought makes him smile, and he hitches up his belt and heads back to the workshop.

He's got a lot of work to do.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading! Thanks as well for following and leaving such wonderful reviews! I hope you all have a pleasant day.**


	4. Freezing His Tail Off

**I own nothing but the story.**

* * *

A cold winter's evening finds Jack in boreal wilderness, on the rocky shore of a river nearly frozen over, save for a snake of glass towards the center.

The moon lies behind him in the open sky, half-waned and declining as the world turns about, leaving webs of stars displayed in all their glory. It's peaceful out, quiet in a way. Times like these most people tend to enjoy, but it's rare when that's a feeling Jack shares.

It's one of the many things he hates about three hundred years of loneliness. Isolation bittered the joys of solitude, turning times like these foul instead of moments where he could just enjoy the time alone.

That said, Jack has found, to his surprise, that there's comfort in the familiar, regardless of feeling, and with every hour he spends with the Guardians or the children, he seeks out another to spend alone, away from it all. The difference now is that it's by choice.

He's not sure what to make of it.

He loves the children. He loves the Guardians.

But it's...a lot to spend time with them, a lot to deal with at once.

Solitude is familiar, and he knows exactly where in the world he can find the perfect place to sit, rest while comforted in knowing that he won't be found.

A sudden crash sways his confidence in the belief.

With a start, Jack whips his gaze towards the white woods behind him, squinting. Something large moves through the trees, and for a terrifying moment, Jack thinks a spooked moose is charging at him, but a second later reveals a frazzled Bunnymund hurrying out, chips of ice sparkling in his fur.

He pants, wheezes once, glares at the woods before turning with a wide-eyed stare caught sheepish. There's a long, almost cartoonish moment where they stare and he stands, off balance, before his expression melts into a grin trying desperately to come off casual. Bunny then states, with exaggerated gusto, "Er—hey, Jack! How's it hanging?"

A long silence follows in his wake, punctuated by an air of awkwardness. Jack just looks the Guardian over, more surprised than he'd care to admit. His mind tells him to respond, but his expression must have said something before he could get his voice to work, because Bunny sighs, shakes himself, and hops over to his side.

"You're hard to find," he says as he throws out a paw towards the rocky earth, "May I?"

Jack nods, bewildered. He's never known Bunny to ask for permission.

Bunny sits with a plop, refusing to offer any sort of explanation as to why he was here or why he came barreling out from nowhere. He merely sits, panting, and Jack is left to guess. He looks back towards the woods, eyeing the path of broken branches and torn snow.

"Where did you come from?" he asks, though he has many questions he'd like answered first.

"The woods," says Bunny, direct in a way that Jack only appreciates when he's the one speaking as such. "I...uh, I was…" he waffles a moment, then says, "Just checking in."

The Pooka's heart is pounding loud enough for Jack to hear. He can practically feel it. Jack looks towards the woods again, and all is still. "Were you following me?"

"No." Bunny's reply is just as fast, and Jack thinks that if he were human, his cheeks would be bright red.

He's lying, simply. Jack would call him on it, but he has too many other questions to hover long on one. "What's up with you, then?"

"I thought you were at Jamie's."

"I was," Jack looks back at the woods again, "but he went to bed hours ago. What are you doing _here_?"

"I'm just checking in," says Bunny, "It's part of my job."

Jack frowns. "Is not. It's winter!" On top of the world, no less. Bunny has no business for being here. Something is up. "What were you doing in the woods? Why'd you come out like a scared rab—" well… "—like you did?"

Bunny's eyes are on the open water, and he scratches at a patch of fur on his neck as he states, in a sheepish sort of mutter, "I wanted to see you…"

It comes out as half a question.

"Why?" Jack doesn't mean the response to sound callous, but there is a difference between wanting to see someone and stalking them at the dead of night, and the very fact that Bunny is here proves the latter situation more than possible.

"...why not?" says Bunny, tone taking a stronger turn, "I see you but once a month. I just want to know how you're doing. Bein' a Guardian is serious business, y'know."

That hardly explains why Bunny is here, but, "This is...like a business call?"

Bunny is quiet, then, "That's one way of thinking of it."

That's the way Jack prefers, currently. He's not one for seeking out solitude, but the interruption is jarring to say the least. He steals one last look at the woods and decides it's too late in the day to try and put up a fight, not that he'd need to.

The instinct is still there, though, and Jack can't for the life of him figure out why.

"Alright then," he says, and he notices Bunny relax in the slightest, "Well, I'm okay."

"That all? How's the belief?"

Believers. The subject comes up a lot during their regular meetings. Currently, Jack has eighteen. More than he'd ever asked for. Pitiful for a Guardian, but Jack doesn't measure success that way.

"They're growing in numbers by the day!" he says, because they've gone over this before and Bunny has no reason for being here whatsoever—

"Have you found you've grown more powerful?" Bunny's tone is slipping into a more naturally casual form, but the Pooka shivers. Jack is certain now that he'd been following, and he's not sure how suspicious he needs to be.

"You know," he replies, carrying on, "I actually have."

An accident a few weeks back is the most recent proof. A gust of wind Jack summoned to help boost him from the earth ended up being more an inland gale, one that sent spikes of ice sprouting along bare-boned trees and himself careening into a nearby wall. Though capable of possessing it, 'grace' is not something Jack can call his own.

Others might, but before he was seen, he could get away with such accidents. Now, he still catches Jaime snickering at his back, and he finds himself both embarrassed and delighted to be so.

It's an odd combination, one he's not used to.

There's a lot about this new way of life that Jack isn't used to, and it's been so long since he started having believers that he's beginning to worry.

He sighs.

"You seem glum."

Another odd thing; Bunny's presence. "What would you know?" Jack mocks, for lack of a proper answer, "What are you doing here?"

"I told you I wanted to see you. You're hard to find."

"If you want to see me, just say so," Jack says, "I'll find you. We can make plans." It'd be better than this, surely. Sitting awkwardly on the shores of a frozen river, Bunny likely freezing his tail off.

Bunny turns to face him, quick and ticked, "Do you want me to go?"

Jack thinks, wonders if Bunny would leave if he gave the word. Though uncomfortable, whether he wants that to happen is still being debated in the far reaches of his mind, so he decides not to test it.

"No," he says, shaking his head, "I'd just prefer some warning next time."

Next time. The very idea that there would be a 'next time' still flabbergasts Jack. But they are friends now, so this would be stuff they would do together.

 _Actually..._ Jack blinks. That gives him an idea.

"Alright," Bunny starts, still a mix of miffed and abashed over being caught, "I'll give it, I swear—"

"Hey," Jack cuts him off with an elbow to the side and stands, kicking his staff up with him, "Since you're here on business and whatnot, how about I show you some of the perks?"

Bunny cocks an ear sideways, eyes narrowing, "Perks?"

Jack grins, "Yeah, follow me."

Bunny starts to protest that this was only supposed to be a short call, and that he really should get back to the Warren, but Jack takes off before he delivers his argument. The Pooka is cold, but the way Jack sees it, it would do his friend good to suffer a while. It serves him right for following him for reasons he still hasn't deciphered.

Jack flies low and slow in the air, just above the snow-capped conifers, so Bunny isn't lost. At some point, Bunny decides traveling through tunnels and popping up now and again to make sure he's going in the right direction is preferable to braving the northern night. It might be the safer choice, frankly. Where Jack is leading isn't a pleasant trip, but the destination would hopefully be worth it for him—his friend.

Jack smiles, uncertain, at the landscape, glad that Bunny can't see.

Though biased, Jack likes to think that Mother Nature was having a good day when she made the taiga and everything that fell under its definition. He thinks it the best sort of environment to live in. The biome is full of wonderful things, and he's sure that even someone like Bunny could learn to appreciate it.

If nothing else, he's sure the Pooka will appreciate what it has to offer tonight.

After several miles longer than he remembers, Jack finally spots it.

A column of steam, pale ivory under the starlight, rolls slowly from the earth, curling past square rocks and ridges. Jack grins. This place, one of many dotting the surface, is almost inaccessible outside of winter (for humans, at least). With a gust of wind to keep him up, Jack turns and scans the earth. When he spots Bunny, he waves, grinning, and points ahead.

Bunny looks and spots the column. Giving a nod, he disappears into his tunnel. Even at a distance, Jack can see his body trying to shake off the chill. He's only slightly sorry for the length of the trip, but Bunny will appreciate it, certainly.

Jack has led him to a natural spring, undeveloped and remote. During the day, it is nearly always at a low boil, and it heats the rocks in a way that makes one forget that they're in one of the coldest places on earth.

Jack lands against the rocks, slowly lowering his feet. It's impossible for him to melt (despite what some choice adversaries may hope), but the heat that rises through him makes his muscles feel like liquid. He sits against a flattened stone, where the faintest trace of moss grows bright green. It's the warmest color around tonight.

"Oh my," comes a voice.

Jacks smiles and turns to find Bunny crouching low over the rocks.

"This is warm!" he says, surprised.

"It's a spring," Jack says, "I thought you might appreciate it."

"I forgot there were springs up here," Bunny sounds genuinely impressed as he crawls right over to the edge of the pool, stretching his belly out.

"There's lots of great stuff up here."

"I'm sure."

Jack is sure Bunny is lying through his teeth, but he doesn't question it. This might be the longest conversation they've had that hasn't yet devolved into petty insults tossed back and forth.

Well, Jack tosses the insults, but Bunny is certainly petty. Regardless, though, their conversation has steered clear of such waters, and despite not knowing what to talk about, Jack wants to keep it this way.

There is the problem of conversation, however.

Bunny looks content, curled up at the edge of the spring like he belongs there. Jack wishes he'd had time to come up with something interesting to say, but the Pooka had caught him quite by surprise, showing up in the middle of the night and all that.

Jack thinks. Perhaps he should address that once again.

But Bunny looks too content, so Jack puts it off for...another time, whenever that may be. He sits there, floundering as he tries to think of something to say. Several painful moments pass before Bunny relieves him by speaking first.

"So ya do like bein' a Guardian, then?"

Another subject they've discussed at length in other times and places.

"Oh yeah," he says simply, "I'm living the dream."

"How're you adjusting?"

That's another story.

"Living the dream," he repeats, softer.

Bunny peers up at him with bright green eyes, the same color of the moss. Jack thinks he's going to say something, but he just observes before turning back towards the spring.

Fruitless, then. After too long where Jack gets impatient, he blurts out, "Have you ever been attacked by a Canadian goose?"

The question is sudden and has nothing to do with anything. Jack himself wonders where he could've pulled it from.

But Bunny replies with ease, saying, "Of course not."

That surprises Jack, "Really?"

"Why so shocked?"

"Because," Jack starts, "You can't...not have...at least once. Have you at least been chased?"

Bunny shakes his head, looking pleased with himself, though that may be the effects of the spring, "Never. All animals like me."

Jack has to call bull on that, "Impossible."

Bunny doesn't fix him with a glare, like he might have, once, but his ears snap straight, "You don't believe me?"

Jack gives a hard nod, "I refuse to believe every animal likes you. What about Pitch's nightmares? They didn't like you."

"I wouldn't call those 'animals', mate."

Jack thinks, scratching at his chin, "What about Abby, Jaime's greyhound?"

Bunny bristles where he lies.

"—she didn't like you. Unless you call that 'tough love'."

"Not tough," says Bunny, words clipped, "Just...aggressive."

Jack lets out a hoot to show what he thinks of that, and Bunny is in a good enough mood to respond with a small smile. The spring seems to be working, then.

The moment is the first of many that eases their meeting from the odd mess that it is to something more pleasant. Jack might even dare to call it 'nice'. As they sit near the spring, Bunny warming himself, and Jack beginning to sweat, they have the most amiable conversation they've ever shared.

They talk of nothing.

Well, several subjects, all seemingly insignificant and independent of each other, but all important to Jack, nonetheless.

They talk of stars, the sky, and the lovely colors it creates. Bunny likes the sunrise, likes watching the light creep over the walls of his Warren like a vine.

They talk of forests of all sorts, of the creatures in it. Bunny tells him of fireflies that show up in summertime and brighten darkened forests, creatures that Jack never really gets to see, except once upon a time, long, long ago. He doesn't tell Bunny about that.

An owl hoots some time during the night, and they talk next of their favorite birds. Bunny likes songbirds, too fond of each kind to pick a favorite. Jack prefers large waterfowl himself, and when he tells Bunny as much, he doesn't have an answer to Bunny's, "Why?" except that they're goofy and fearless and just delightful little creatures, every sort.

Bunny laughs, the sound ringing loud through the crisp air.

Eventually, their conversation works around to the Pooka's role as the Easter Bunny, because Jack can't fathom having to work only one day a year.

"It's not all one day!" Bunny is incredulous at Jack's accusation, and Jack snorts in response, "The eggs are created in the few days before, sure, but they are the exception," for his next statement, he faces Jack and shakes his paw for emphasis, "Everything else is a year-round production, I promise you that!"

He chuckles, much to Bunny's chagrin.

They don't get to talk like this, Jack realizes.

"I have a full schedule," Bunny continues to insist, defending himself from an argument never uttered, "Why, I had plans tonight about basket-design that I would have tended to if it hadn't been for—"

As Jack watches, Bunny's eyes go wide, and he cuts himself off. The abrupt silence that follows allows the atmosphere of the first half of the night to make an unwelcome return, and the question of his company's presence arises again. As Jack stares at Bunny, who avoids eye contact, he decides not to let the question pass.

"Why are you really here?" Jack asks, voice soft. Bunny hasn't been lying to him, but he hasn't been all honest, either.

Bunny looks torn for a moment, eyes shifting as he sits in thought. Jack sees him take a deep breath, slowly in, then out. Though Jack would credit the spring for loosening his resolve, the tone of voice suggests another purpose as he comes to a decision and says, "North wanted me to check on you. See if you were alright."

Jack shouldn't be surprised, but he is, "Oh?"

"He, uh…" Bunny's brow is furrowed, and he still looks out over the spring, debating, "He got a little worried since he hadn't seen you in a while."

"He saw me a couple weeks ago," says Jack, a little too quickly, more than a little defensive, "and he'll see me again during the next meeting."

Bunny nods, but he doesn't say any more.

Jack is confused. Had North expected him to visit? Jack can't deny that he'd thought about going back more than once in the past few weeks, if just to test if the window really would be unlocked, but he could never bring himself to do so.

But is North expecting him? How often, and for how long?

Bunny has sat up, now, watching him with a quizzical expression. Jack hates to leave his face an open book, but today he almost appreciates it as Bunny says next, "Don't worry about it, mate. Christmas time makes him frantic. I should have given you a heads up."

Jack can hardly see how that has to do with him, but he nods, agreeing at least with that last part. "I could've met you somewhere warmer," he mumbles, the tick he felt about being followed, though older, still scratching at him like a thorn in his side, "Perhaps the American South."

"Oh, no. I won't go higher than the equator," Bunny jokes without smiling, taking a stand, "I'll tell North to ease off; how does that sound?"

"No."

Bunny stiffens, ears snapping straight. "Hm?"

"I'll…" Jack stares at the bubbling spring, "I'll tell him myself. The next time I see him."

Bunny looks odd, his stare intense and eyes wider than they normally are. "And when will that be?"

Jack shrugs, "The week after Christmas, maybe? I can drop in for a minute or two."

The odd stance vanishes as Bunny heaves a soft chuckle, "Might want to wait a while. After Christmas, he's usually asleep 'til January."

That might better suit Jack, actually.

Beside him, Bunny gives himself a scratch and says, "I'll be heading off, then," he taps his feet, a tunnel opening. Though he tenses, he doesn't yet jump down as he gives Jack one last look, "Hey," he says.

Jack looks back.

"It's nice seeing you."

For once, Bunny doesn't look like he's forcing the statement out through clenched teeth, and that makes Jack grin, "You know what?" he replies, "You too. And I mean that," shaking off the vague feelings of uncertainty and wonder, he stands, "Before you go, can I ask you just one last thing?"

His tone must have rung some sort of bell in Bunny's head, because his, "Sure," is marbled both parts curious and suspicious.

"Why'd you come running out of the woods earlier?" He wouldn't have given himself away if he hadn't, and Jack wonders how the night might have continued if so.

The Pooka's teeth grind together, and he turns his eyes steady towards the landscape, focusing on a tree to keep from looking at him. "My tunnel popped out in a grizzly's den."

He says it so matter-of-factly that Jack laughs, cackling.

When Bunny glares at him, he laughs harder, because the expression and memory is too amusing.

Bunny doesn't end up chiding or yelling at him like he used to, and Jack supposes that is what separates their friendship from whatever they were before. It's a pleasant guess among a series of guesses, and only when Bunny's patience looks too thin for comfort does Jack calm down.

"Well," he says, "Maybe that'll teach you. Good night."

"Good day, where I'm going," sighs Bunny, and Jack isn't sure if he's going to Australia or somewhere that just so happened to be in the daytime.

Either way, Bunny hops down into his hole, and Jack gives him one last wave before flying off into the open sky, losing himself among the stars.

* * *

 **This wasn't meant to come out so late. Thank you for your patience.**

 **I had to split this chapter up since it got too long, so the next one should be up soon (sooner than this, at least).**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read, review, and follow this story! Your support truly sends me over the moon! Have a marvelous day!**


	5. Tempest

**I own nothing but the story.**

* * *

Bunny bids Jack a good day, where he's going, but he doesn't go anywhere with that sort of environment; in fact, as much as he wants to retreat to the sunny grasses of his Warren, friendship is a project that requires a lot of work to maintain. So, he finds himself at the North Pole, updating his friend on the situation.

"You got caught?"

"I didn't get caught; I let him see me."

"Why?"

Bunny shifts uncomfortably, "None of your business." The memory of wondering what that awful smell was only to turn to the sleeping snout of a grizzly is all too fresh in his mind. Fortunately, unlike Jack, North doesn't press him.

North is frazzled on this long night, caught worrying over far too many things. Despite their rivalry, it is the one thing Bunny sympathizes with; the nervousness that comes before an important holiday. Excitement and stress have made the jolly Guardian a mess of nerves and the like as he navigates his bustling surroundings.

The man cannot keep still. He moves this way and that, past yetis, toys, and merry-making elves. He's the spirit of a hummingbird caught in the body of a giant. Bunny struggles to match his pace, a remarkable accomplishment he's sure never to credit North for.

"But is he alright? I wasn't too forward, was I?"

"I think sending me after him was a mistake," Bunny bites at the words as he says them. Just as curious and not wanting the trip to colder temperatures to be in vain, he'd agreed to go, "If the plan is to get him to like us, we're going about it wrong."

"It's more than that," North assures, stopping suddenly to grab a passing yeti, "What is this?" he says, "I wanted those dollhouses wrapped weeks ago!"

Bunny is forced aside as the yeti bumbles some garbled excuse. Though the Pooka can't understand a word, North nods, face twisting in frustration before waving him off.

"Off with you, off with you," he says to the yeti, who is wise to clear out. North isn't the sort to get irrationally angry, any sort of angry, really, but one didn't want to be around him when he stressed.

Yet Bunny follows him through chaos, a tempest of Christmas themed horror. He has to watch his step for fear of tripping over several things, and he wonders if the workshop has ever truly been clean.

"What is it, then?" he has to ask the question twice before North hears.

"I want to make him a home, Bunny," despite his stress, North smiles, "I want to give him his own room, his own books, clothes! Everything he likes! I want him to have a place here."

He looks so genuinely delighted by the idea that Bunny can't help but smile. It's a brief expression, but he continues, "Ya have to lay off him, then. Let him come to you."

"He's not an animal, Bunny," he pauses in his work long enough to give a sheepish, "Sorry."

Bunny snorts.

"I guess I thought he'd come back," for the first time, North stills entirely as he loses himself in thought. "We had a good time on his last visit."

Bunny tries to sympathize, "He's an enigma."

That fact isn't true. Jack has a habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve, but they don't see him often enough to read it.

North sniffs at the statement, then waves a hand. "Ah, I won't worry about it now. I don't have the time-"

As he speaks, a thundering crash echoes around the room, the unknown source occurring somewhere distant. Bunny snaps to attention, but North just closes his eyes, looking tired.

"After Christmas," he mutters, "After Christmas, then."

Bunny chuckles, sympathetic enough to give his friend a hearty pat on the shoulder, "That's right. Just focus on Christmas. And don't worry about Jack. He'll come around."

"You really think so?"

Recalling the conversation had earlier that evening, Bunny smiles. "I'm positive."

He leaves North looking slightly better than when he'd found him (not that the change is noticeable to the naked eye, but Bunny prides himself in his perceptiveness). Though at first upset at traveling to the North Pole, around the Arctic Circle and back, as he bounds back to the warmth of the Warren, he decides the trip was worth it.

* * *

 **Short, but I hope you enjoyed regardless. A huge thank you to everyone who reads and reviews. You guys make my day (shoutouts to sparklehannah, Demi clayton, and the other guests, who I can't thank privately. You guys leave awesome reviews, and I wish you the best!).**

 **Anyway, thank you always for reading. Have a fantastic day!**


	6. The Naughty List

**I own nothing but the story.**

* * *

When Jack visits the Pole the week after Christmas, the window is unlatched. Jack shouldn't be surprised, but he can't stop looking at the window once he's in, nor stop the little hop of happiness he expresses as he begins his search for the Guardian of Wonder.

Down the hallways, the yeti do no more than glance this way, occasionally offering a nod of acknowledgement, either used to his presence or informed by North to let him do his bidding without interference.

Jack wonders if he could test this but decides better of it as he remembers his mission. His search for North takes a long time. The Pole is a maze of rooms, especially since Christmas, where the combination of rampant mess and cleanup projects add an extra layer of chaos.

When Jack does find North, he's been there for an hour. North is cooped up in a small bedroom that doesn't even look like a bedroom, in Jack's eyes. In fact, Jack has already checked this room. He didn't see anything except a large pile of blankets and stuffed animals.

A closer and second inspection reveals North to be the pile of blankets and stuffed animals. Softly snoring, North snoozes away the afternoon on a bed that bends beneath his weight, surprisingly quiet for someone his size. Jack snorts. He thought Bunny was kidding when he said that North sleeps until New Year's.

Jack can't talk to him like this, so he decides to wait the Guardian out. He wanders throughout the Pole, this time purposeless in path and gesture. He waves and speaks to the yeti (not that he can understand their garbled speech), and more than once, he finds himself tripping over elves and other items; scraps of wrapping paper, tools of all shapes and sizes, and toys too broken or ugly to give to the world.

The Pole is a mess—Jack shakes his head in mock disappointment, like his mother used to do. North shouldn't have to live like this.

He entertains the idea of helping the yeti clean up the mess, but he doubts that his methods of cleaning would be of use. Jack's never owned enough stuff to make a true mess, so simply picking everything up and putting it on the nearest table or shelf seems impractical here. When it comes to big messes, like ones he finds on the sides of roads or in cities, his method of cleaning involves little more than making it snow long enough for a stark white blanket to cover everything.

Perhaps it isn't practical, but the mess always ends up of sight, and usually out of mind as adults and children alike step out to play. Jack smiles at the thought, knowing that something like that wouldn't fly here.

Still, he wonders.

* * *

Clean slate or not, Jack is on the naughty list for a reason, as evidenced later, as he sits smiling over the chaos below him.

The yeti were either too tired or uncaring to notice Jack make his way up to a perch near the Pole's roof, on a thick wooden rafter well hidden from view. From there, Jack sets his half-formed plan into motion, a mischievous grin curling across his face.

They didn't notice the snowflakes at first, for they were soft, hardly meant for more than causing a ruckus. They're also used to snow, being yetis, so Jack imagines it doesn't quite register what's happening yet. Jack counts the minutes and gets up to five when they finally realize that it shouldn't be snowing inside the building, and that's when the problems begin.

Some of them glance up immediately, looking for the white-haired hellion responsible, but most of them are running around, looking for any open windows or doors. Jack laughs, and, without meaning to, makes the snow fall a little harder. That's when elves start gathering snow that's settled on the tops of tables and toys and begin throwing little snowballs at each other.

Jack only laughs harder as the yetis begin to yell.

He's about to make it stop, he really is, when a new voice joins the frenzy, the voice of a tired, cranky Santa Claus.

"What is the meaning of this?" he barks as he appears from a hallway, striped nightcap swinging and eyes blazing, "What is going on?"

By all accounts, the sight alone is funnier than anything Jack has done, but something about North's appearance catches him off-guard, and the snow stops suddenly, falling fast to the ground.

North walks with a limp, hobbling along like the old man he is but never seems to be at the same time. He has one hand against the wall, but otherwise, he stands straight and tall as he looks around in bewilderment.

"Is this snow?" he bends and nearly slips. Something is wrong with his leg.

Concerned and guilty, Jack flies down and lands on a rafter closer to North, still out of his field of vision. Yetis and elves alike swarm the man, shouting and gesturing wildly. North's eyebrows fly up in surprise as he starts scanning the ceiling.

"Jack?" he says, not really calling out so much as questioning.

It's obvious that Jack is here, but North sounds surprised. Almost aghast. Jack feels a little bad about the snow, but perhaps if he's clever, he can sidestep any apprehension. He flies down and lands in front of North with a satisfying drop, surprising the man enough to jump back, wincing again as he lands on his bad leg. It twists under his weight, painfully so. Jack wonders if he's been attacked.

In greeting, Jack points at North's leg, not the most graceful way to shake off a bad situation, but (hopefully) effective, "You're hurt!"

"Jack!" North exclaims, "You're here!" he looks around, and Jack can feel the hard stares left by the yetis, "You made it snow."

His snow could've caused North to injure himself further, which he chooses not to think about as he continues looking at the leg. It looks no more than a sprain; Jack recognizes it as an injury among many that Jack's winters have given people for centuries, "You should put some ice on that."

"You're here!" North says again, his tone something odd.

Jack nods in attempt to steer the situation into safer waters, "Yes...I needed to talk to you…" though, given the situation, Jack can't remember what it was he came here to say, "You want some ice for your leg? I got lots of it."

North stares, confused, before breaking off into that jolly old laugh of his, the kind where his belly shakes. Jack glances side to side to see exasperated and confused looks shared between the yetis. He wonders if ignoring the situation actually worked.

"Jack," North says, "This is nothing. It happens all the time. I get overzealous sometimes and fall off roofs."

He doesn't give Jack time to reply as he puts an arm on his shoulder and says, "'Tis no matter! You're here! Come with me, I'll get you some cookies and milk—"

He starts to go, pulling Jack along with him, but they're met with various calls from the yetis, who point and wave at the thin blanket of snow covering everything. North looks at them, towards the snow, then back at Jack.

"Oh," he says, "Oh, yes," he fixes Jack a stern glare that he suspects might not be sincere, "First, get rid of the snow disrupting my workshop."

Jack blinks, taken aback by the request. Get rid of the snow? Jack never gets rid of snow; it always goes away on its own, and that's when he adds more snow—until springtime forces him out, that is. He looks around the room. The snow is already disappearing on its own; the fireplaces truly are as powerful as North said.

But everyone is waiting for him to do something.

Thinking a moment, he squeezes his hand, and the snow appears to shrink as the flakes harden to miniscule crystals of ice. Though they will create just as large of puddles as the snow, the mess does appear smaller.

His own mess, anyway. The workshop looks worse without layer of white to soften its edges, and the yeti grumble amongst themselves.

North clears his throat, "Can you not get rid of the snow entirely?"

Jack smiles, "Sorry?"

"Hm," North huffs, a hand against his beard. "Well, Jack," he says, a twinkle flickering faintly in his eyes, "Don't do this again, okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, North raises his hand and dismisses the yeti, bumping Jack forward until they're walking together down the hallway. North is still limping.

"What'd you fall off a roof for?" Jack asks, staring at the foot as they make their way towards a place he knows not where, "You could've broken your neck."

Jack would feel guilty about the snow or ice that caused North to slip in the first place, but given that North is the older one of the two of them, he figures that the spirit ought to know better by this point.

"Oh, this stuff happens every year," North chuckles, "Not a Christmas night goes by where I don't bump my head or slip on some ice. Part of the job."

Jack looks at the foot some more, the crooked gait at which North walks. "You shouldn't be on it."

"Nonsense!" says North, patting him hard on the back and gesturing towards a door, "Now, you go and sit while I go make myself respectable, then you can tell me why you're here!"

He sounds excited, and Jack thanks his lucky stars that he isn't mad about the snow. But still, he's bothered by the leg. He knows enough about winter related injuries to know that North should not be walking.

"I wouldn't do that," he says, expressing as much, "You should prop that foot and forget about looking respectable." Jack almost cringes as he finishes his sentence. Even to his own ears, he sounds like a nagging mother, and of all things Jack likes to call himself, that is certainly _not_ one of them.

"My my," says North, "You come in here, disrupt my workshop, then start ordering me around? The audacity, Jack." North is smiling as he says it, not serious and aware of it.

Jack grins. "Sorry about the snow, alright? An idea got away from me."

"That happens a lot," North observes.

He's curious about it, which is a welcome change to the usual reaction Jack receives when he follows one of his mischievous whims.

"How about this," North says, "We'll get some cookies and milk set up in the sitting room, I'll prop my feet up, and you can clarify what it is you wanted to tell me. Sound good?"

It does. North disappears into what must be his bedroom, and Jack wanders back to a nearby place they could sit down, careful to avoid the line of sight of any passing yeti. He's surprised to find a feeling of excitement curling through his gut, but he welcomes it.

The idea of spending time with North—just the two of them—seems almost fun.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, and for your patience with these updates!**

 **Have a fantastic day!**


	7. The Unexpected Part

**I swear I haven't forgotten this story. I don't own Rise of the Guardians.**

* * *

Turns out, North's plans aren't always the best plans, even if they do work. He'd sent Bunny out with the intention of making sure Jack was alright, and that plan had succeeded. It was just that it also threw a wrench into his main plan, the more important one.

In the two hours since Jack has arrived, they've circled a number of topics, ranging from Christmas night to the many questions Jack had about it.

 _Did you really fall off a roof, or did you slip on something and land wrong?_

 _How often do you fall off roofs?_

 _Do you fall off the sleigh, too?_

The more Jack asks, the less inclined North is to answer the questions, because his company looks a little too amused with the responses.

They sit together in a sitting room, one of many the Pole has, lounging in two armchairs next to a small, but powerful, fireplace. It isn't all that different from their arrangement weeks earlier, after baking, if smaller and more relaxed. The difference now is that North has his foot propped on the mantel, and Jack has spent considerable time worrying over it. The concern and underlying affection in his actions leave North absolutely tickled. Combined with the fact that he believes his plan is working (after all, Jack is _here_ ), it makes for a pleasant visit, certainly worth the lost sleep.

Almost. Jack keeps fussing over being followed, which makes North realize that his plans might not be working so well after all.

"You see, it's very rude to follow people around," Jack explains over his fourth cup of cocoa, "I know this is small potatoes for someone who 'sees you when you're sleeping', but it doesn't paint you in the best light, if you know what I mean."

"My apologies, Jack," says North, wondering how Jack hasn't had to use the bathroom yet, "From now on, I'll leave you be."

The answer seems to satisfy his company, who nods sagely as he downs the rest of his drink.

"I get anxious around Christmastime," North continues, though he doesn't want to excuse himself.

"Still, it's weird," Jack pours himself another cup. He hasn't touched the plate of cookies set between them.

Personally, North thinks he's had worse plans, though the more Jack talks about it, the more he thinks that such a statement isn't as good a defense as he thought.

Jack's demeaner about the whole event conveys nonchalance, but the insistence over not doing it again tells North that he's messed up. Royally.

"It won't happen again," he promises, adding this to the list of promises he'll have to keep if he wants Jack living at the Pole by next Christmas.

Jack smiles at him, and they sit in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other's company. This is another thing they've been doing for two hours, between the strings of conversation. North takes it as a good sign.

Clearly (despite his overbearing tendencies), North has succeeded in becoming a welcoming companion, for why else would Jack stay so long?

The thought of sweets comes to mind as North watches Jack pour a fifth cup of cocoa, practically inhaling the drink, but North refuses to entertain the idea. For now, he just revels in the silence of good company. Perhaps his scheme wasn't as much of a step back as he thought.

Then Jack ruins it when he finishes his cup. "Well, that was all I wanted to tell you…"

He sets his mug against the mantel and stands, his tone suggesting that he's about to leave, something North certainly doesn't want. A meeting such as this is two sided; Jack asked about North, so it's only fair to for North to ask about Jack. How is he? What are you up to these days? Would you like to stay here at the Pole? That is the goal, after all, but Jack seems intent on keeping that door shut.

"You're leaving?" North protests, shifting uncomfortably as he tries to stand, but thinks better of it.

Jack stretches, "Yeah. I just wanted to tell you not to follow me anymore."

North wonders if Jack means for it to come off as cold as it sounds. If Jack doesn't want to visit just to visit, then North needs to figure out why. Perhaps he is overbearing; sending Bunny after him is proof enough of that. Was he expecting too much in waiting on Jack to visit? Was he moving too fast for someone used to hardly moving at all?

Bunny's words come back to him in bits and pieces. _Lay off. Let him come to you._

Does that mean letting Jack leave just as placidly? Keeping his distance? To North, that hardly sounds different than the relationship they had with Jack before he was their friend, and that sort of behavior is something he wants to avoid at all costs. That leaves him with what Jack wants, whatever that is.

Sitting there, North puts a hand to his beard, wondering how to find the right middle ground to show Jack that he cares.

These thoughts trouble him as Jack takes his staff, staring uncertainly at North the whole time. Is he expecting something?

"I enjoyed this," Jack eventually says, "Sorry again about the snow."

North chuckles. The truth is that he'd been so preoccupied with this meeting that he'd forgotten of the mishap entirely, though he's sure the yetis have not.

"No matter," he replies with a wave of his hand, "It is of no importance."

Frankly, he has more pressing matters on his mind. He's had his first blunder in the plan, and he needs to come up with something else. A saving grace, a contingency plan, something to fix this.

"You'll keep off the leg, right?"

Jack still stands before him, not having moved.

North blinks as he realizes this. Ponders.

"For a time," he says, "I need to get back to work."

"So soon?" Jack questions, lowering his staff.

"Yes," says North, "I've got clean up, inventory, stocking."

"Can't the yetis do that?" Jack still doesn't move as he asks North questions, an action that intrigues him, to say the least.

"They need rest too, no?" North strokes his beard as he looks Jack over, "Part of being a leader is working with your team. And we've a lot to do. Christmas is more than just a night."

That much Jack is already aware of, but his gaze turns distant and thoughtful. "But what about your leg?"

"Part of the job," says North, "It is nothing."

In the silence that follows, North is struck with an idea that might just save his plan from the rut it's fallen into.

"I could show you some of the work we do," says North, "I won't be as involved for now," he adds, tapping the knee of his bad leg, "If you're so concerned about this, I wouldn't mind an extra pair of hands."

Jack continues staring past him rather than at him, so North sweetens the deal.

"I'll show you the restricted areas."

That gets Jack's attention, and his eyes widen in child-like glee, "The Pole has _restricted areas_?"

He sounds absolutely dastardly, and North smiles. "If you'd like to help, of course. I understand if you don't."

He really does, and he prepares for Jack to say no, but Jack lowers his staff once again and says, "You know what? Yeah. I'll help you."

* * *

 **Thank you all so much for your patience. I know how frustrating it can be (heck, I'm even frustrated with myself) to wait so long for a mediocre product, but I hope you enjoyed regardless.**

 **Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, and following this story. I hope you have wonderful day!**


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